Father of the Bride
by theycallmethejackal
Summary: A look at what happens when Donna's father dies a month before her wedding.
At the end of the day, Donna walks into her childhood bedroom, unable to get her black dress – this horrible reminder – off fast enough. Tossing it to the side next to her suitcase, the blonde sits on the bed in just her underwear, the full weight of the day hitting her.

She had to be strong today. Her mom needed her to be strong. She lost her husband of forty years. The man she'd sworn to love and cherish for the rest of their lives is just… gone. And on top of that, she couldn't go up there and deliver a eulogy if she was sobbing.

A pulmonary embolism. Donna had nearly laughed out loud when her mom had told her. What were the chances that the very thing that nearly killed her in Germany – the very same thing that killed her would-be father-in-law – would also take her dad's life?

She feels hot tears pooling in her eyes, but this time she lets them fall. She doesn't have to be strong for her mother right now. Everyone has gone home, and now Donna is free to weep after saying goodbye to her dad. She was always Daddy's little girl. He spoiled her as much as he could. He would run around with her in the yard when she was little. He taught her how to play catch, how to drive…

Part of her is so angry with herself. She didn't call enough. She was so busy and so wrapped up in politics that she hardly ever spoke to her father. Her mom calls to nag on occasion, but he understood the demands of Donna's work. He knew she would call when she could.

She didn't call enough.

She shudders a little as tears start to fall faster, and she curls into herself, lying on her side on the bed, shaking at the thought that she'll never get to talk to her dad again. He'll never tease her about becoming a Democrat or hug her tightly when she comes home for Christmas.

He won't walk her down the aisle at her wedding.

She clutches a pillow to her chest, trying to grasp for some semblance of composure, but she can't. She's not one to cry. She can count on both hands the number of times she's really cried in the last ten years, and she can count the number of _people_ who have seen her cry on one finger.

She's so beside herself that she doesn't hear the door click shut behind her, and she doesn't process his presence until his arms are wrapping around her, hugging her tightly so her back is pressed to his chest. And then he just holds her. He doesn't speak. He doesn't press little kisses to her neck and shoulder like he sometimes does when she's upset. He just holds her, his presence telling her that it's okay – she can let it all out and he will never judge her for it. Just like he's always done for her.

A long while later, she's facing him. She's still wearing just her underwear, and he's yet to rid himself of the suit he wore to the funeral and the wake. Her hands cup his face loosely, her thumbs occasionally grazing over his cheekbones or her fingertips trailing over his jawline or brushing through his hair. She's all cried out now. "You should get changed," she tells him quietly.

"You can't be comfortable."

"I'm fine."

"Really, Josh, I'm okay – "

"No you aren't," he murmurs. His hand rests on her waist and his thumb moves over her skin in light circles. "You've taken care of me for ten years. Let me take care of you," he insists gently. The blonde simply nods her head and continues allowing her fingers to trace his features slowly. "Donna," he breathes after another long silence.

"Yeah?"

"I know how much this is affecting you – how important he is to you. And I just want you to know that… if you want to postpone the wedding for a little while – "

She shakes her head. It's such a considerate gesture, she thinks, taking a deep breath and sighing. "I've been waiting to marry you for a decade, Joshua. I don't want to put it off," she whispers.

"I know, but getting married less than a month after your dad – " He stops himself from finishing the phrase, correcting it with, "after _this_ … Your wedding day should be the happiest day of your life, right?" He matches her hushed tones.

"It will be," she promises him.

He sighs through his nose with a little grin as he pulls her closer so she can curl against his chest. "Josh," she protests, pulling back. "My makeup's going to stain your shirt." She hasn't looked in a mirror, but surely she's got mascara running down her cheeks and eyeliner smudged. She sees him open his mouth to protest that he doesn't care, but she stops him. "Change," she tells him. "I promise I won't break down if you get up for a few seconds."

Josh hesitates, but he complies, giving her a long kiss to her forehead before getting off the bed and stripping out of his suit, leaving him in just his white undershirt and blue boxers. She expects him to get back in bed, but he moves to his suitcase and pulls something out of it. When he gives it to her, she realizes it's the Harvard sweatshirt she loves, the one she'd worn on nights she slept at his place during his recovery. Having that little piece of Josh comforted her, and she was glad she'd managed to steal it from him months before she left to work on the Russell campaign. During times she missed him, she'd wear it to sleep in. Or sometimes she'd just hold it to her chest and breathe in the faded scent of him. It had been like having a token from home. "I thought you might want it this weekend," he explains.

She nods with a little smile and sits up, slipping it over her head as he finds his way under the covers, pulling her close to him once she lies flat again. "He was so proud of you, Donnatella," he murmurs into her hair as she drifts off to sleep.

* * *

A week later, they attend the dedication of Jed Bartlet's Presidential Library.

Afterwards there's a gathering in the library with the Bartlets, the Santoses, and members of both the former and current White House Staff as well as other guests. She sees Chief Justice Lang is in attendance as well as several members of Congress.

Donna is getting a drink when she feels the gentle touch of a slightly rough hand on her shoulder. She may work for the First Lady, but the presence of Jed Bartlet never fails to make her snap to attention. "President Bartlet," she greets, her voice a little higher than intended.

"How many times to I have to tell you and that bone-headed fiancé of yours to call me Jed?"

"I think once more, sir," she replies with a small grin.

He smirks and offers her his arm. "Take a walk with me."

They exit the party and start moving through the beautiful new library, one member of his Secret Service in tow a respectable distance behind them. The building has been secured, of course, considering there are two Presidents and countless members of the United States government present, but a member of the Secret Service must always have an eye on Jed Bartlet in public.

"I was very sorry to hear about your father," he tells her, his cane making a quiet, rhythmic _thump_ as they walk through the building.

"Thank you, sir." He gives her a little glance. "Old habits die hard," she reasons, secretly thinking she'll probably never feel comfortable calling him by his given name.

"Were you close?"

Donna nods. "We were when I lived at home, but once I left and started working for Josh, I didn't talk to him enough..." Her voice breaks and she swallows, not wanting to cry in front of the President. He waits patiently for her to continue. "I didn't tell him how much I loved and appreciated him enough," she whispers.

"He knew," the confident but soothing voice of Jed Bartlet has her turning her head to look at him. The President turns to face her completely before he continues, "I have three grown daughters. I don't talk to Liz and Ellie nearly enough, and once Zoey starts to fend for herself, I know I won't see her nearly as much as I'll want to. But if you've got wonderful kids like I do – like your father does – the one thing you know as their parent is that no matter how far they go, they love you and appreciate you. Even when you've made mistakes along the way."

She can't help the tear that falls from her eye. She didn't know how much she needed this talk until this moment, and she has to tamp down the overwhelming urge to hug President Bartlet. "Thank you," she whispers, her throat constricted with tears.

"Josh is like the son I never had. Charlie, too, but Josh was there first. And from the moment that happened, I realized that you were the one person in this world who knew how to handle him and how to take care of him. He loved you from day one."

Donna smiles gently. "I've always loved him, too," she admits.

"I know you have." He smiles perceptively before taking a deep breath and sighing. If Donna didn't know any better, she'd think he was nervous. He used to be Commander in Chief; how could he be nervous talking to her? "A father can never be replaced," he says. "And I would never try to," he explains. "But if you'd like, I'd be happy to be his surrogate at your wedding."

Her jaw drops in surprise. President Bartlet just offered to walk her down the aisle at her wedding? "Really?" She asks quietly before receiving a slow nod in answer. This time she can't stop herself from wrapping her arms around his neck in an embrace. "Thank you, Mr. President," she murmurs, squeezing her eyes shut to fend off more tears. She feels his free arm wrap around her waist, and she grins. "I would love that."

* * *

The President escorts her back to the party, where she finds her fiancé with the members of Bartlet's original senior staff. It's so right to see them all together again, and a wave of nostalgia washes over her. This is her family. These are the people she loves most in the world.

She laces her fingers through Josh's and grins. A short moment later, he excuses himself from the conversation and guides her to the edge of the room. Noticing her wet, slightly red eyes, a concerned look finds his features. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

The blonde nods, a bright smile splitting her face. "President Bartlet is going to walk me down the aisle at our wedding."

"Yeah?" He asks with a grin.

"You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"

He has the good grace to look just a little sheepish. "I know it's not the same as having your dad there with you, and I heard you when you said you'd ask your mom's brother, but you didn't sound excited about it, and I just thought…" He trails off, and she looks at him with her brows furrowed. "We both joined the first campaign because we were so inspired by him," Josh explains. "He inspired you so much that you picked up your entire life and went to campaign for him without a dollar to your name. If it weren't for him – "

"We might never have met," she finishes, taking both of his hands in hers and squeezing them gently.

"He brought you to me the first time, and I thought… it would be right for him to bring us together again on our wedding day."

Donna has known Josh for a decade. She thought she had seen every imaginable side of him, but she had no idea how sentimental he could actually be until now. Leaning into him, she kisses her fiancé for a very long moment. "That may just be the most romantic thing I've ever heard of," she admits as they part.

"More romantic than the snowballs?" He asks with a smirk.

"Yeah," she replies, laughing quietly as she wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him tightly.


End file.
